


Lay Me Down

by LadyAJ_13



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Enchanted Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Fluff, Gen, Merlin Saves the Day (Merlin), Pre-Slash, Sleep, Sleep Deprivation, Worried Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24117346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: ...What if once, Merlin was under the bed the whole time?
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 229





	Lay Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by that scene - ""You've been under there this whole time? Because if you were...!"
> 
> Spoiler. This time Merlin was.

The right words, a delicate push of power, and the plant crumbles to dust. Finally. Merlin sighs, letting his head thunk backwards onto dusty floorboards.

It’s been a long morning. It’s been a long few days, truth be told, but wandering the forest all night tracking down mischievous little pixies, then negotiating a ceasefire, then tramping back here, readying a moony Arthur for the day and shoving him out the door so he could get at the little sprig of bewitched greenery under his bed - well. It’s just all been a bit much.

He can lie here for a second. It’s not the most comfortable, but it’s dark and it’s horizontal and honestly that’s… all he needs...

He wakes with a start. A slammed door, and voices - who’s barged their way into Gaius’...? Except this isn’t his room. He blinks at the wooden slats only inches from the end of his nose.

“...I’m glad you’re taking an interest in the kingdom again.”

Merlin stiffens. Uther. And he’s in Arthur’s bedchamber, under the bed. The light is different too; no longer the soft illumination of a cloudy morning, but flickering - candles. It’s night time. He’s been under here all day… he stretches his mouth, grimacing at the taste of his tongue. He could really do with some water.

“Camelot is my top priority-”

“You could have fooled me, the way you’ve been carrying on these past few days.”

Oh thank God, it must have worked. Arthur must be back to normal. There’s an awkward silence. 

“These plans... “ says Uther finally. There’s a rustling; the sound of shifting papers on Arthur’s desk. With Arthur out of action Merlin had thrown a few pieces together on taxation of the lower town and services for the people. It’s rudimentary, nothing like what Arthur could have come up with, but it’s an explanation for what he might have been up to - a better one than the truth, anyway, enchanted by pixies and chasing any new pleasure that took his fancy, like a child when the travelling merchant comes visiting. “Tell me more about this one.”

Chairs are pulled out with long scrapes, and King and Prince settle in to discuss matters of the crown. He’s got two choices, as far as he sees it. He can pop out, claiming he was cleaning - although it’s been long enough now that Uther will no doubt accuse him of spying on the very measures he put to paper - or he can make his home down here among the dust and dead woodlice. It’s almost enough to make him wish he actually cleans Arthur’s chambers when ordered to. 

A servant must have been by, because there’s the gentle glug of wine being poured which makes his mouth feel even drier, and a crisp sound that might be one of them biting into an apple. He sighs, quietly, and imagines sweet juice on his tongue. He closes his eyes. At least it’s a chance to catch up on sleep.

\--

When he wakes again, it’s to low, murmured voices and the weak, grey light of dawn. He should be tearing himself from his bed, a frigid wash in the bucket and a spoonful of porridge to look forward to before tracking his way across the castle to see to Arthur.

There’s something pleasingly efficient about sleeping under his bed instead. He can have a lie in. A sleeping pad would make it better, though; it feels like the floorboards have left dents in his shoulder blades.

“...and he still hasn’t returned?” Arthur’s voice is tight and drawn. Weary, like he hasn’t been to bed.

“No Sire. He… has done this before.”

“Gaius… he seems worried.” 

“Would you like me to order a patrol? If he went out for herbs, like Gaius said-”

“No, no. I saw him yesterday morning, I’m sure. He… I think he was here then.”

It’s Leon, his sleep-muddled brain catches up. And Arthur, of course. And Gaius is worried about someone. Someone… gathering herbs…

Oh god, Gaius is worried about  _ him. _ Because he went out to talk to the pixies and as far as he knows, never came back. Because he’s been under Arthur’s bed for… he assesses the light level and adds frantically. Twenty one hours? Maybe? But Arthur has a vague recollection. It’ll be the spell confusing him, leaving him unsure, but it’s something. Even so, now is the time to get out. Even if that means admitting he’s been here all along, even if it is in front of Leon who will give them both that strange look he gets sometimes before wiping it away with a veneer of polite noble blankness. He twitches, but his muscles have locked stiff. Ouch.

“Perhaps he just needed a day off, Sire.”

There’s none of the judgement Lancelot would put into that statement, and none of the barbed teasing Gwaine would infuse it with. Just straight words. There’s no response from Arthur, only trudging footsteps and the sound of the door opening and closing, heavy latch falling shut.

It’s beyond time to get out. He shifts again, gritting his teeth, but can only flail - there’s no way he can gather the dexterity to crawl out. He tries again, and a short whimper falls from his lips. 

The footsteps freeze. Then start up again, edging closer. If he tilts his head to the side - neck screaming at him - he sees a very familiar pair of boots. Then a familiar pair of knees. He thinks about turning away, but bravely keeps looking, and soon meets a very familiar pair of eyes. 

“ _ Mer _ lin?!”

“Arth-” he coughs. His throat is like sandpaper. 

“Merlin,” Arthur growls, before turning sickly sweet. “How long have you been under there this time?”

He swallows frantically, but there’s nothing to clear away the dryness and the dust. He coughs again. 

“Out. Now.”

The eyes disappear, then the knees, and then the boots too, although he can hear them clomping angrily around. He summons every vestige of will - 

And twitches.

Something tightens around his ankle, and - whoosh! He slides along the floor, blinking in the sudden light, and stares up at his prince. Who just yanked him from beneath his bed like a recalcitrant child. He swoops again, fastens his grip around Merlin’s wrist, and propels him upright so fast he grunts and staggers.

“Seized up,” he hisses, to explain his hunched figure. “Water.”

Arthur stalks across the room, fetches the jug for washing his face and slams it on the table. Half the water splashes across the floor. The other half, Merlin greedily gulps down.

Arthur looks tired. His face is pale in the dawnlight, and his eyes heavy, like they haven’t rested in too long. It’s a look Merlin knows well. It’s one he sees on his own face often enough. It’s concerning to see it on Arthur’s, as he crosses his arms and leans against his table.

“Explain.”

Merlin shrugs. “I fell asleep. I was… cleaning.”

“You fell asleep,” Arthur repeats. He eyes the dust tracks on Merlin’s clothes and the lack of any cleaning materials. “Before starting the cleaning, but after getting under my bed. First thing in the morning, when you should have only just got up. And then stayed asleep, through the chambermaids airing the room, a meeting with the knights after I cancelled training-”

“You cancelled training?”

It might be his imagination, or it might be Arthur’s refusing to meet his eye. “I had no one to help me into my chainmail,” he says sulkily, before regaining his thread, “and a policy session with my  _ father _ .”

He scratches his nose. “Oh, I uh, woke up for a bit of that.”

“And what? Liked it so much under there you decided to stay?”

“I thought he might accuse me of spying.”

“Because you  _ were. _ ”

“No,” he waves hurriedly. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Really.” Arthur’s voice is oddly level; the dangerous kind of level, that means rather than feeling nothing, he’s feeling a lot, but keeping it all tightly in check. He takes a single step forward. It puts them in touching distance, and if he was scared of Arthur in any way, he would be feeling very intimidated right now. “You spent nearly twenty four hours in the royal bedchamber, and discovered nothing at all?”

He shifts from foot to foot. “It’s not like you have any secrets.”

Arthur laughs at that, but it’s his exasperated laugh, not the one that lights up his eyes and clears the troubles from his brow. “I think many would beg to differ-”

“From me,” he adds. Perhaps being well rested makes him brave, because Arthur’s raised eyebrow just makes the words come faster. “I already know you dream about long journeys away from Camelot, the freedom from responsibility, because you talk in your sleep. I know what’s in the policy plans over there because I wrote them, and I know you disagree with your father on most points of ruling a kingdom, but you respect him as well, and that ties you up in knots. I know Leon is your most trusted knight, but you think Gwaine is a better swordsman and Elyan a better friend. I know you hate strawberries but order them for picnics because whichever lady you’re wooing will swoon when you leave them all for her, like it’s a token of your undying love.” He scoffs. “I know you treat me the way you do, with the scuffling and the insults, because you want Uther to think I’m just a servant, but you’ve got to know that’s never going to work when you…” he falters, searching Arthur’s face. “When you cancel training because I’m missing. I know I’m… your friend.” He pauses. “And I’m sorry, for worrying you. Did I leave anything out?”

Arthur ignores his apology, turning away slightly and raking one hand through his hair. “None of that came from the last twenty four hours.”

“No.”

“You left one thing out.”

Merlin frowns, wracking his brain, but there’s nothing. It might not be well known, but he thinks the fact that Arthur sleeps sprawled on his stomach, or splashes his bathwater, or has a favourite pair of breeches, or leaves a cup of wine aside for Merlin… none of those quite count as secrets. Just mundanities, that he holds close and would never dream of gossiping about. “Then I guess you do have secrets.”

It shouldn’t feel quite like this, probably, to know there’s something outside his experience of Arthur Pendragon. Like someone’s carved a tiny little space in his chest. God knows he holds enough back from Arthur.

“You should… you should tell Gaius you’re okay. He was worried.”

“Not you?”

“I know you always land on your head. Luckily, it’s thick enough to handle the trauma.”

It would be easy to fall into their usual bickering, but Arthur is still pale even as the sun strengthens. He softens his voice instead, concerned. “You should get some sleep.”

“I’ve got a kingdom to-”

“I mean it. You look exhausted. Just a couple of hours, then I’ll come wake you.”

Arthur must be tired, because he relents more quickly than expected. His shoulder sag, and his head falls forward as Merlin strips him efficiently out of his tunic. He pushes him in the direction of the bed, but Arthur catches his arm.

“Merlin… Gwaine too. Tell him you’re alright before he does something stupid.”

“Yes sire, right away sire, three bags full sire. Now if you’re done, will you please go to sleep?”

There’s a strange surreality to pulling back bedcovers in the light. It feels a touch wrong, watching Arthur climb in and smoothing the blankets back over with no candles to snuff. He knows it’s the right decision by the way Arthur’s eyes slide closed almost immediately, as if weighted. 

Having drunk all the washing water, he’ll have to fetch some more - and some breakfast, for when Arthur wakes. And something for him, he’s ravenous after no food for more than a day. He glances out of the window. It’s still early, the courtyard deserted and the shadows long with the sun so low on the horizon. Arthur can have a good two hours and still be readied for court before -

“Merlin?”

“ _ Yes _ , Arthur?”

“If you’re ever that tired again…” he slurs, eyes blinking heavily. “Sleep somewhere more obvious?”

Merlin nods with a grin. “Of course,” he says, but he’s pretty sure the prince is already under. He tiptoes back to the bed anyway, and tucks the covers more securely. He’s definitely gone; the lines in his face are smoothed out into relaxed sleep, his mouth ever so slightly parted. Arthur shifts, turning until his back is to the ceiling, and Merlin gives in to a familiar urge. He strokes lightly over golden hair, lost in the repetition, until his stomach growls and brings him back to the present.

He’s pretty sure that’s royal permission. Next time he’s tired, he can take a nap on top of Arthur’s bed, rather than under it. Or hell, maybe even in it. A good servant follows orders, after all. 

And he can’t think of anywhere more obvious.


End file.
